forever
by EV3RL4STING SER3N4DE
Summary: Shortly after winning the US Open at the young age of twelve, Echizen Rin decided that she needed to take a break from tennis. But when her manager - Fuji - assigned her to attend Rikkaidai High, her plans were unpredictably interrupted; unfortunately, it didn't seem as if she would be taking any respites from tennis in the near future. She needed to go yell at Fuji later.
1. --prodigy

**DISCLAIMER: I would never let anyone steal my work if I ever became famous, just saying, so I am ever-so grateful to those authors that do. The Prince of Tennis does not belong to me in any way, but I do wish that it did. **

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, y'all. (:

-I am an extreme procrastinator, ahem, perfectionist, sorry. So this story may or may not be continued depending on my mood and, of course, how much love I get from my fellow peers. So, yeah, it'd be nice if you'd review, favorite, pm, or at least read the story, _please._

-Oh, and some clarification about the minor character in this story - Horio Sadao. He is Horio Satoshi's father, but should be featured in this chapter only for introductory purposes. I would have used the actual character, if there was one (either that, or I couldn't find it ._.).

-But without further delay, I'll just let you guys go right ahead into the story and (maybe) tell me about your opinions.

* * *

**-prodigy**

1. a person, especially a **child** or **young ****person**, having **extraordinary talent** or **ability**

2_. _something **wonderful** or **marvelous**; a wonder

3. something **abnormal** or **monstrous **

* * *

_It was an exhilarating feeling – she could feel the night breeze surrounding her – and she curled her lips up into a smirk – until everything suddenly went black._

* * *

Though he had seen much – with his two years of airport security experience – it was a rather chaotic day, he had to admit; really, it was lucky that he had not gone insane yet, having dealt with the pleasure of children bawling at the tops of their lungs, confused passengers – one of which he had to exasperatedly remind that five suitcases was a bit too much –, and old ladies that seemed to take a fancy to whacking him with their wooden canes. He had finally decided that perhaps a cup of tea would soothe his nerves, and Horio decided that his manager wouldn't notice if he just took a _miniscule_ break from his duties.

Humming some cliché classical piece under his breath, he made his way towards the security guard room, hidden in a shadowy corner by the currency exchange booth, at a leisurely pace. The keys strung on a ring by his waist jingled merrily, and he picked one up to insert into the frustratingly small keyhole when an odd pinching sensation passed over his foot.

"Hey!" he called indignantly towards the girl that had just dragged her suitcase over his foot, scuffing his pricy leather shoes in the process. They were a luxury that he had convinced himself that he ought to buy, and he wasn't about to let her get away without a proper apology. "Excuse me, young lady!"

As she turned around with an irritated scowl on her face, Horio realized that the girl was older than he had assumed, multiplying in the factor of her height. She was so painfully short that she wouldn't have even reached his shoulder, though he was by no means a large person. Casually slung over her shoulder was a bulky sort of bag, navy blue in color, which suspiciously reminded him of a tennis bag. But it was the golden eyes that had startled him first, sharp and cold, but mysteriously intriguing.

"What do you want?" The bluntness of the question caused Horio to splutter in disbelief.

"There's no reason to be so rude, I was _simply_ trying to request an apology from – "

He trailed off, realizing suddenly that the girl had already picked up her blue suitcase, magically produced a white cap from who-knows-where, and walked away.

"Hey! _Hey!" _he shouted, attracting a few bemused stares, but he ran after the girl anyways. She took no notice that he had arrived next to her, despite the fact that he was panting. "You play tennis?"

She stopped. Looking him directly in the eye – Horio became captivated by the piercing stare of those emotionless golden orbs –, she responded with a simple, "Do you?"

"Of course! I, Horio Sadao, have over four years of tennis –"

"Yeah, whatever," she said in a deadpan voice and briskly strode in the opposite direction.

Dumbfounded – _no one_ had ever interrupted his bragging – Horio dogged her in astonishment, forgetting all his troubles about his manager and the cup of green tea that was waiting for him in the security room.

"Play with me," he snorted, after a necessary moment to regain his composure. Perhaps _that _would teach this arrogant little girl a lesson.

"Hmm," she mused, turning her head sideways to peer at him. "No."

"Why not?" Horio asked the girl incredulously, gaping at her like a fish out of water. He hadn't considered the possibility of her saying no; why would this girl bypass an incredible learning opportunity with him – an experienced player.

She sighed in slight frustration, and fixed on him the most irritated glare that Horio had ever seen in his lifetime. "I'm getting tired of you following me around, so I'll play you, on one condition."

"Alright," he said, satisfied after her agreement. "What?"

"_I _get to pick the court."

And that's how he found himself standing on a tennis court, near a shady looking alley – which Horio had eyed with distaste –, of all places, holding someone else's racket.

"Little girl, you should be more respectful to those who are better than you at tennis. You could learn something useful." Irritatingly, all this earned him was a blank stare from his companion.

Shrugging it off, he continued, determined to show one more person that he – Horio Sadao – was better than them at something.

"Don't be discouraged if you can't return my serve the first time," he boasted. "It's extremely fast, obviously; it's only natural since I have four years of tennis experience." He picked up a ball and grasped it securely in his palm.

Strangely enough, the girl seemed faintly amused, but Horio didn't let it get to him. It was probably just a scheme to unnerve him, but _he_ wasn't about to be pulled into that trap.

As usual, the ball soared across the net, and Horio took a second to admire his skills; though it was fast, he was still able to see it.

_Ha, _he thought smugly. _That should teach you not to mess with Horio S –_

A flicker of movement later, a harsh, seemingly intentional breeze whizzed past his cheek and startled him into silence, and he heard the sound of a ball bouncing from behind him.

Flicking a taut string on her racket, the girl pulled her white cap even lower than Horio thought was physically possible, and murmured, "Mada mada da ne."

* * *

"Six… to…zero," he whispered to himself, finally collapsing on the court in utter exhaustion. After that, he had proceeded to play one of the most one-sided tennis matches of his lifetime; the girl had not let him even graze the ball, yet she herself returned every single one like a machine – with clean efficiency and no clear discernment of any effort of all.

"Hey," he heard a voice drawl, and he looked up. "I was expecting a little more from someone with _four years_ of tennis experience. That was too easy, Horio." Her voice was sardonic.

"Who – who are you?" he heard himself wonder.

She studied him for a moment, and then replied slowly, as if she were internally debating whether or not to answer the question, "I'm Echizen Rin."

For some reason, that name sounded familiar, but Horio couldn't recall where he had heard it before. "Echizen Rin?" he murmured, half to himself.

"Er, yeah. So, Horio, do you know where Rikkaidai is – I'm sort of lost."

"Yeah, it's really close to the airport – you just walk over there and take the second left. You'll see it." He gestured vaguely with his hand.

"Thanks." And with that word, the girl named Echizen Rin was gone.

Collecting his thoughts, he trudged out of the alley – completely exhausted – when a discarded newspaper caught his eye, blaring out the headline 'Prodigy Echizen Rin Brings US Open to a Shocking Conclusion'.

His addled thoughts made him a little slow to realize the actual significance of the statement, but when he did…

"_EH?_ That – that girl won the _US Open_?"

* * *

"So much for staying inconspicuous," a certain girl muttered to herself, striding into the sliding doors of the sleek bullet train. Coach won't mind though; he's such an _expert_ at annoying me." She pulled her cap lower, scowled, and – if you could get past the emotionless mask – one could tell that Echizen Rin was worried.

Just then, a phone rang, and she fumbled to reach a cell phone in a side pocket of her tennis bag. "Hello?"

"Rin," a voice said, managing to sound both cheerful and threatening simultaneously. "I trust that you're enjoying yourself in Japan?"

"…Fuji?"

"You were supposed to call me – in fact, I just got a message from the hotel manager that you didn't arrive yet." Fuji sounded accusatory, and despite the fact that she knew he was probably lenient about the matter, she winced. "I was worried Rin." She marveled at how quickly his voice could change, suddenly sounding concerned. "It's your first time in Japan and – "

"Fuji, I was _born_ here."

"Well, yes, but – alright, I stand corrected. This is the only time – in your memory – that you have been to Japan. If I recall correctly, you were in Japan for how long – until you were two years, three months, and fourteen days old? That's not nearly enough to remember."

Shocked, she could not help but utter a soft, "Fuji, you're such a stalker." She was sure that he heard it; Rin could have sworn that he smiled, even if she couldn't see it."

"Anyways, Rin," he directed, "get to your hotel and _sleep_. I've already explained the situation to the manager, and everything should be arranged. You're near the airport now, going towards the mall two miles west from there, right?"

Of course he had to know exactly where she was because – obviously – it was Fuji. She had hired Fuji as her manager at the time because he was supposedly a _tensai_, but it had been a fatal mistake. Sometimes she suspected that he posted spies everywhere that she went.

"Yeah… Fuji, how – "

"Good," he remarked smoothly, cutting her off. "I've arranged a vehicle to come and pick you up. It should arrive in about ten minutes."

She groaned in apprehension of what was to come. "Fuji, please don't tell me it's anything too showy. I'm trying to make myself _fit in_, if you don't mind."

Innocently, he said, "Of course not. At least I didn't order a horse and carriage this time – I'm not even sure if they're legal in Japan, on the streets. Besides, a limo's not _that_ bad in comparison.

She responded with silence, and took a deep breath to calm herself. The last time this had happened, Rin ended up nursing a sore throat for two weeks; she was just not built for screeching.

"_Fuji_," she said dangerously, and if looks could kill, there would have been a hole seared in the side of the apartment complex she was standing next to. "I'm going to kill you."

He had the nerve to chuckle.

* * *

SO. How was it?

Anything from telling me that I'm awesome to pointing out my unavoidable grammar or spelling mistakes are welcome!

I may post a sneak peek of the next chapter on my profile soon, hopefully, if enough people are interested.

再见!

.SER3NADE


	2. ---foreign

**Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis, sadly, does not belong to me. Not that I don't wish it did. :)**

Hey. I'm sorry I can't reply to your reviews just yet, but you can probably count on me sending you some PM's of gratitude, or something like that. o-o.

Anyways... did it take me too long to update?

I bet it did, which doesn't make since, considering the poor quality of this chapter. How long do you think this took me to write? owo. (By the way, this chapter has reached a total of 1981 words, according to Microsoft Word).

Enjoy and - hopefully - review!

* * *

-**foreign**

1. **not native, **derived from a **different **country or nation

* * *

The girl sat in such stoicism in the limo that the chauffeur wondered if something was wrong. After thirty minutes of absolute silence, he tentatively spoke, so inaudibly, that one could hardly notice it was there. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," came from the girl moments later, in the form of an aggravated huff.

Another awkward silence passed, until the chauffeur gathered up enough confidence to say something, again. "What's your – "

"Don't bother. It's not your fault… chauffeur-san."

He heard a sound like a fusillade of gunshots, and turned back in alarm to gaze at the girl. She was violently a photo, her face contorted into a malignant grin.

The sound caused him to catch only a few words, some of which - when he strung them together -did not make sense.

"Sadist… go and die…_limousines, _what were you _thinking_…Fuji..."

Though he did not admit it, the chauffeur was scared out of his mind; it was just his luck to be stuck with a mentally challenged passenger, albeit a rich one, considering the great deal of money he had been paid. He could feel the thick wad of cash in his pocket, even now, and recalled how he had eagerly agreed, drawn it like a moth to a flame. Driven by apprehension, he sped through the roads, quite a few honks trailing behind him in annoyance.

But the screeches could have been whispers for all that he noticed.

And when the girl stepped out of the limo with a grace that was beyond what he would have considered unstable, he felt a sort of relief that can only come from becoming free from mentally ill children with murderous intentions.

With a sudden stab of guilt, he pitied the so-called person named Fuji.

* * *

Her hotel was selected with too much bias towards the grandiose, and Rin's eyebrows knit in distaste. But she should have known – after all, it was Fuji who she had chosen for her manager. Or more like forced upon her – her family had a long-standing bond with the Fuji family. Unfortunately.

It gave off the air of an aristocratic mansion, with white pillars, gold curtains, a massive structure, and glass doors. The lawn was filled with green, sparkling grass, and with a slight twinge of satisfaction, she realized that there was a couple of tennis courts in the backyard. However, when she strode towards the estate with a hint of hesitation, as if she had already seen her upcoming doom, Rin automatically realized there was something wrong.

It was absolutely silent.

But – suddenly – there was a slight susurrus of the branches, as of the harsh wind that comes before peals of thunder, and she felt a sudden unease.

"Hello, Rin. I see you've arrived." And there was the smiling – better described, in her perspective, as a mocking sneer – sadist, his eyes shut into thin slits, as always. He had appeared out of thin air, somehow, and Rin twitched slightly despite herself.

"Hn," she grunted in consent a second too late, still recovering over the shock.

"How was your trip?"

"Hn." Again, it was her only reply, and it suddenly occurred to Fuji that she was most likely not listening.

"Rin, are you alright?" he said, in his usual mellow voice.

"Hn."

"_Rin," _Fuji persisted.

"Hn."

It seemed as if she were caught up in her own thoughts, he had inferred, after a moment – which, in fact, she was; though she was generally rather aloof, Fuji could usually count on her to make some sort of mordent taunt.

So they continued to briskly traipse towards the doors where a doorman lay in wait to draw them open.

Until, it happened with indiscernible speed. Rin had lined up evenly with Fuji on the pavement, perhaps a pace ahead of him and swung her leg sideways so that her foot jutted out directly into Fuji's path. Had it not been for his lightning reflexes, a by-product of intense training for tennis and his natural talent for the sport, Fuji would have found himself sprawled on the pale carpet – but, instead, he had caught himself in the door handle and suddenly pulled himself erect.

"Rin," he said, his ever-present grin still on his face. She remained cool, calm, even as he continued to stare in her direction.

"Yes?" she asked, artfully cocking an eyebrow in question. "What is it, Fuji?"

He uttered no sound, only beamed in a phony way as she pushed ahead of him into the abode, for once, willingly, and as she passed, Fuji could have sworn that the crooks of her lips were curled up into a smirk of contentment.

* * *

If there was one good thing that had come from Rin's attempted mischief, it was that her anger – if there even was any present – had abated to a point that she became less impassive, to a slight fraction of a degree.

"Fuji," she had asked a few hours later, once Rin had unpacked. She was desperately attempting to keep any sign of curiosity out of her expression, but failed. "Why aren't there any other people in this hotel?"

"Because, Rin," he replied cheerily, "I rented the hotel. The manager was incredibly kind to make the arrangements when I mentioned that a world-class tennis player was coming to his hotel, especially with the minimal sum that I offered him."

Trepidation pulsed through her. "Fuji…" She trailed off dangerously, face contorted into a furious glare. "We agreed that you wouldn't mention that to _anyone_, correct?"

"Of course, Rin," he amended, appearing horrified. She knew better; it was probably one of his mastermind plans to humiliate her. Fuji was an evil genius disguised as a high school student with perfect grades, one of the reasons that no one suspected him for anything. "I forgot – my apologies. I didn't realize that you were actually _serious_ about making your arrival subtle." But he was also almost like an older brother to her, and no matter how he carried out his preposterous intentions, Rin never gave him more than a mild chastising.

She sighed, and massaged her temples in attempt to relieve the migraine that was developing. If Fuji had been blabbing out her secrets to the public ever since last month, when she had decided that she would go to Japan, she had no idea how informed her classmates would be at her new school would be.

Dreading her first day of school, Rin allowed herself to be shown to her room by the overly-helpful manager and proceeded to unpack her belongings.

* * *

"Kaa-san," Rin had said one morning – a month earlier –, after entering the dining room. "I want to go back to Japan."

Her mother had not been the least surprised at her request. There had been a lot of tension building up in the family for the last few weeks, ever since Rin had won the US Open. Reporters had come, audaciously knocking on their front doors at five in the morning; they all knew how much Rin _loathed_ getting up early.

When she had ordered Rin to open the door one afternoon, after a chime of their doorbell, the mailman had shoved an oversized burlap bag into Rin's arms, appearing slightly harassed. It had been – to Rin's shortening tolerance – a large pile of fan mail, which had continued to grow daily.

Her friends had been in sudden awe of her – which, of course, was of the highest desideratum to her – , and television channels constantly replayed her games or asked her for interviews, all of which she had denied bluntly. Her father seemed to think little of her fame, even spoke of continuing it with his dreams of his daughter winning other competitions. Rin had always tried to maintain an impenetrable demeanor, but her mother knew that it was nearing its end – towards an outburst.

She could barely walk out her own front door without going unnoticed.

But this one was an outburst of its own, albeit much quieter and controlled than Rinko herself had considered. However, she could see, roaring behind her, the flame of defiance – raging and full of resistance.

"Alright. You should call Fuji. If there's anyone who can "

Her daughter only scowled as if she wanted to protest, but consented to the request, despite the fact that her tone was completely unwilling. "Fine."

* * *

Without much further impediment, she found herself standing before the entrance to Rikkaidai Fuzuko – a private school that had boasted shamelessly of its tennis club from what she had seen on their brightly colored website. Most of the students did not seem impecunious by any means – she saw fancy cars parked casually in the lot, some of which had unlocked doors, as if they were of little value.

It gave off a sort of tumultuous attitude, like any other school during morning hours, but something seemed different about the atmosphere. The air around her seemed dour, or perhaps it was just her, but something seemed odd – almost recondite. Uncomfortable, Rin tugged on her white Fila cap, a habit that she had kept ever since she had gotten it.

Her brow furrowed. This had actually been something that she had been looking forward to, attending the nation's best school for uprising tennis stars. The tennis level in most American schools, despite her parents' efforts, had not been high enough to satisfy her taste. Perhaps it was just the fact that Rin was adroit in tennis, something that she had inherited from her father.

All of a sudden, the aura of the school seemed to shift; the tone became more respectful, the vivacious chatter became more hushed. Save for a group of people decked in yellow and black, huddled as if they were a clique, everyone else seemed rather edgy, as if they were near royalty.

"Those are the regulars for the tennis team," she heard a girl standing near her say in reverence.

Her companion, obviously a freshman like Rin with her small stature replied, "Oh. Are they good?" She appeared to be bemused.

She was stared at with a patronizing, are-you-an-idiot look. "They won a national competition two years in a row," she drawled; as if this was suffice information.

Rin snorted. Winning a national competition, though difficult, she had to admit, was not enough to say how skilled one was at tennis. It weighed heavily on the competition and the conditions – she had heard of some winning it more by luck than by pure expertise.

In spite of this, Rin kept a closer watch on the teenage boys than she should have – out of an instinctive curiosity.

At the back, a boy with a head of fiery hair sported a buoyant grin as he babbled merrily to his neighbor, a bald foreigner. Another with glasses and a perfect posture stood beside a teenager with silvery hair – though he had not yet reached an old age. Rin wondered errantly if he had dyed it.

Before them – a stern-looking, tall figure with a black cap was obediently tagged by a younger-looking student with a head of messy hair. But they were rendered insignificant by the one before them, a jacket draped elegantly over his shoulders, tousled blue hair, a gentle smile.

He was frailer than the others – not that it detracted from his overall appearance – but something enticed her about him. Perhaps it was something about the way that he held himself, as if he were a leader, confident and charismatic.

She peered at him. He seemed to remind her peculiarly of someone, though she could not remember exactly who, as his singular likeness wasn't like many that she had seen before. She knew it was odd, but somehow, his very presence excited her.

A rival.

Perhaps, there was just a slight, extremely slight, chance that she wouldn't _hate_ staying at this school, not implying that she would like it either. She could probably stand to stay here for the next year or so. It did appear to have its benefits. And that was, of course, factoring in their tennis club.

Just maybe.

* * *

I'll just go die in shame now. :)

I didn't even proofread this yet... my next chapters should have - if nothing else - a little more time and effort spent on them.

-ev3rlasting


	3. ----coincidence

Since I am too lazy at the moment to write lengthy paragraphs filled with cookies and love to everyone that reviewed, I will simply give my sincere gratitude.

Thanks to nwyd, allqua, Lady Natsuka, Nazomi13x13, Guest #1, DragonFire Princess, angelg0722, , Poosa-ard, Guest # 2, Ohaithere, symbalin, jgood27, xFluffyBunnies, keybladeXshadow, Yuki Masaharu, Copper Sulphate, PumpkinsandPineapples, ChocoMickey, mysweetkat, and PinkSugarDust for reviewing! (Whew. That sure took some time to type up.)

Now, on with the usual disclaimer, yadda, yadda. With the chilly weather moving in, y'know, I think I'm getting a severe case of writer's block-itis. Yes, some people get the common cold, others the flu. I get writer's block-it is. So, any suggestions for the horribl – ahem – plot that needs improvement would be extremely helpful. :)

**DISCLAIMER: **Sadly, I do not own Prince of Tennis or any of the characters that are featured within, only this measly story.

* * *

-**coincidence**

1. a **striking **occurrence of **two **or more** events **at** one time **apparently by **mere chance**

2. the act of **coinciding**

* * *

To her utter disappointment, sneaking into any sort of densely populated building without being noticed was never one of her strong suits, especially when she was being trailed by a not-so-sly figure in sunglasses. She had noticed the figure just before she was about to enter the school, dogging her footsteps in style, that is to say, a pinstriped suit from some American brand that she could not recognize and a baby blue tie.

Despite the fact that she was extremely blatant when it came to things like this, the straight brown hair and the smile made it rather obvious who the person was. Gritting her teeth, Rin tried to ignore him and navigated her way through the treacherous hallways of a local middle school.

Perhaps her expression had been a little _too _fierce for anyone's liking, for everyone that got into close proximity immediately turned away with an alarmed look across their face. Noticing this, she tweaked it into that of a poker face – Fuji had once taught her how to play poker, along with blackjack and a variety of other games that young children should not have known how to play –, in a futile attempt to act as if nothing were wrong.

But she could hear those light, confident – and undoubtedly irritating – footsteps behind her, reverberating through the entire passageway ominously. It could not have been more obvious that she was attracting attention, walking sideways, curiously turned away from an impeccably dressed brunette.

Fuji, she thought in a savage, twisted way, was _so _dead after this. It satisfied her to some extent thinking about the ways that she could torture him – that sadist – in her own ways, and a low chuckle was forced through her mouth as she lost herself in those fantasies. Perhaps she could poison him with some sort of arsenic, or tie him to a dartboard and throw knives at him, as inaccurately as possible, or maybe strangle him, or burn him at stake.

Fortunately for her manager, she was interrupted by Fuji himself, though he did not know at the time that it was beneficial on his part.

"Rin!" he called, waving furiously, his smile stretched wider than before.

She grimaced and began to walk faster, a faint blush on her face. Death, it seemed, would be too scant of a punishment for Fuji. Rin would have to come up with more creative alternatives.

"Rin!" Fuji said again, a little louder, and this time, more faces turned to stare at the girl that was most obviously Rin, as she was the only one that was trying to _avoid_ the person.

Risking a glance back – laced with malignance – she noticed that Fuji was toting a navy blue bag with ease, and on the side, the name –

No, she thought with an edge of desperation, no, no, _no. _Not even Fuji was that evil.

But she had been wrong, for the bag strung over his shoulder was shaped distinctly in the contour of a tennis racket, because it was her tennis bag. The one that she had purposely left at the hotel that morning, to act as if she was a normal person, not the girl whose life depended solely on tennis.

He was catching up, even though her pace was brisk; she had trained more than him, it was true, but Fuji once had been a remarkable tennis player, and still was, and that strength was put to use.

"Rin, you forgot your tennis bag!"

She could feel the entire school pause for a second in time, and all turn to regard her with some interest, being the tennis fanatics that they were. Most prominent were those directly in front of her, clad in yellow and black striped jerseys, who had unfortunately been in earshot.

Their faces were all different; the one in the black cap had little change, the foreigner had a faint smile, the red-haired one simply blew a not physically possible bubble in his gum, the silver-haired had a smirk on his face, the guy with a seaweed-hairdo had a challenging sneer on his face, and the others were simply neutral.

But there was their blue-haired captain, an ever-knowing smile gracing his face, who stared at her with the most curiosity; his stare was also the quickest to leave her face. As if they were one, as soon as their captain diverted his attention to another event, the rest of the team motioned to follow, along with the rest of the school.

She marveled at how the school in its entirety seemed to _revolve_ around him, that frail looking figure and his gentle facial expressions. There still existed in her mind much doubt that he had much leadership skills at all, even though all other signs suggested otherwise.

Instead, he fixed his attention on the person behind Rin, who was casting a looming shadow over her vertically-challenged body. The captain's smile shifted from carefree to slightly threatening, and suddenly Rin recalled who he reminded her of.

The blue-haired teen reminded her suspiciously of Fuji, from their weird and, at times, frightening smiles to their frequent mood swings. That explained to her why the captain had caught her attention first, why she had felt for some peculiar reason that he was a very skilled tennis player, other than the fact that he was the captain of Japan's number one, nationally ranked tennis team

"Hello Fuji," the captain spoke, his voice soft and melodious. "How have you been?"

With a sudden jerk, the _tensai's_ head rose. "Yukimura," he acknowledged, smile becoming painfully tight. "Haven't seem you in a while. I've been fine. How about you?"

"Great. _My _team has won National's for two years in a row so far."

"Well, I've recently been managing this young tennis player here, Echizen Rin. Perhaps you've heard of her?" He gestured vaguely with his hand towards Rin, and handed her the tennis bag deliberately.

"No, I haven't," Yukimura replied slowly, glancing at Rin once more. "Her name sounds familiar, but perhaps it is because I know quite a few Rin's. Quite a common name."

"Rin was recently the winner of the US – "

Her common sense told Rin that her secret was about to be exposed, and she quickly muffled Fuji's speech with both of her hands and a sheepish and, at time same time, murderous smile.

"Heh. Um, what my manager_ meant_ to say was that I won a few junior competitions here and there, in America, nothing _much_." She narrowed her eyes warningly at Fuji.

"Ah, so you must be that new student," Yukimura said kindly. "Maybe _that's_ why your name sounds so familiar."

"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion. "You've _heard _of me before?" That was unexpected, and Rin felt her heart jump in sudden trepidation.

"Hm. It's just that Fuji was kind enough to spread the news several days before you came. Doesn't everyone know already?" Yukimura added, supplying Rin with enough information to drag her back in to her world of planning.

No, she continued to think, I should chain one of those iron balls onto Fuji and toss him into the Pacific Ocean. Or, maybe… she could place him underneath a gigantic magnifying glass and fry him underneath the sun. The possibilities were simply endless.

* * *

"Class, please welcome Echizen Rin," the teacher announced in slightly accented English. It was better than what Rin had expected from her, though she was being rather critical. It was certainly light years away from what her other teacher, who had taught Japanese, in America – she could understand the teacher to some extent, but could not refrain from laughing when she pronounced even the simplest of Japanese words wrong.

Rin waved halfheartedly to the rest of the class, not in the mood for any greetings. Fuji had temporarily ruined that prospect; she shuddered at the thought of enduring seven more repetitions of the same sort of welcoming to the school.

"Echizen, you can go sit over there, by Akaya."

A few of her classmates looked at her with sympathy, which made her wonder what sort of person this "Akaya" could be.

It turned out it was one of the regulars in the tennis club, or so she assumed, because she had seen him earlier with the captain and the rest of the team. His hair seemed even more unruly now, perhaps because he was tearing part of it out in frustration, a crumpled paper lying before him.

"Hello," she said quietly in English, seating herself beside him awkwardly.

"He-hello," he said, straining his voice to pronounce the word correctly. Rin had to admit it was a valiant effort, but could not refrain from chortling slightly in amusement.

"It seems you have lots more to work on," she murmured, translating her favorite quote into English with practiced ease. The boy could only stare at her in confusion, eying her as if she had just sprouted an extra arm or a leg.

Without a further word, the boy named Akaya turned back to his papers, promptly uncrumpled it, and stared at it blankly without further ado. Peeking over his shoulder at an angle so that her actions would not be so easily noticed, she glanced at the sheet fleetingly and then turned away, a smile on her face.

The red marks and a giant, condemning F on the front page made it all too obvious that it was nothing short of bad news for the boy, but the way that he carried himself told her that it wasn't the first time that it had occurred.

"Do you need some help?" she asked, with a smile, quickly reverting to Japanese for the sake of the boy. He seemed relieved, either because she was offering or because he could finally understand what she was saying.

"Yeah," he muttered, as if it was difficult for him to admit.

The rest of the period was spent reviewing his test, which the teacher was only too glad to allow. She had long wanted to assign a tutor for Akaya, but had never found one satisfactory enough to meet his high demands and lack of skill in the language.

"Er, you do realized that because it says that it is for two people, it has to be apples – not apple." Plural, you know…"

"Right," he said, and revised his answer on the test sheet, but she had the feeling that he did not really get the concept.

Shrugging it off, she told herself that it wasn't _officially_ her job to teach Akaya English even if he was failing at it. Besides, being a high-end tennis player was enough for her, because she valued those skills more than any intellectual qualities. It was just the way that Rin's brain worked. Tennis always came first.

The sounding of the bell signaled the end of Rin's first class, and with a grudging thank you on Akaya's part, Rin left the classroom, slightly more cheery. However, the thought of her having physical education next, in which they were most likely practicing tennis skills, dampened her spirits. There was nothing quite like swinging a tennis racket around for an hour, and playing games with people that hardly knew the rules of tennis at all.

She scorned the idea. If she could have ruled the world one day, somewhere far in the future, Rin would have made it a law to play _good_ tennis, regardless of ability. Tennis was the best game in the world; she could not see why others did not share her views.

Just as she was exiting the classroom, pushing her way through the crowd of students, she collided accidentally with a broad, tall person, so tall, in fact, that she could not see at all for a few moments.

Looking up with a scowl and a half-formed apology, her eyes met those of the person that she had least expected to meet, especially outside of a classroom.

* * *

Any guesses to who that person might be? :o

Enjoy my fail of a cliffhanger, I guess. I promise that I'll update sooner this time!

Reviews are my life, just like how tennis is Rin's. Give me the Christmas gift of showing me that you love my story.

Happy holidays!

-ev3rlasting

***This was not proofread in any way and was typed at one o' clock in the morning. I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors. This took a total of two hours and is a length of 2275 words.


	4. -----psuedomorph

**ERMAHGERD. ERMAHGERD. ERMAHGERD. Pride and Prejudice is so amazing. The movie, more specifically. After all, what writer hasn't read the book? (Not me, for one.)**

**DISCLAIMER: **Sadly, I do not own Prince of Tennis or any of the characters that are featured within, only this measly story. By the way, though I doubt anyone would _want_ to steal this, plagiarism is not cool.

**Fail corner:** Heh. Sorry about the last chapter. I forgot to take out my notes-to-self…WELL. That's embarrassing. Silly me.

And I've noticed a grammatical error or two, which is even more of a cardinal error on my part. Remind me to edit more.

This chapter may or may not be a little angst filled; I am new at this genre, not that I have much experience in the others. That's why they have reviews – so you can lament and complain all you want about how I failed and extol how I should do better. No offense shall be taken. (:

What began as a simple author's note has grown far to lengthy, so I'm just going to end it with the fact that y'all have made me feel so guilty. I made plans a while ago to include this character in the story, albeit in a different way, and now you've gotten your hopes up about it being Sanada or someone like that. I feel like an ingrate for not satisfying those hopes, seeing how you've given me so much support. Bah.

Congrats to The Weasel is MINE xP, I suppose, since her guess was the – er – warmest.

On the spur of a moment, I introduce a new challenge to you. Guess the quote-er (yeah, whatever, it's not a word) of the quoted quote. May the odds be _ever_ in your favor.

**"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the the universe."**

* * *

**-** **pseudomorph**, /_noun_/

1. An **irregular** or **unclassifiable** form

* * *

She blinked once. Then twice, eyes adhering to his face blankly. Confusion emanated from her, like a subtle aura.

Hazel eyes, wry and sagacious simultaneously, audaciously stared back.

* * *

Her vision went black.

"Guess who?" a voluble voice chimed from behind her. Rin could feel the sensation of his rough fingers obscuring everything from view.

There was only one potential answer to that, a truism so well known to her that there was little meaning in saying it. Nevertheless, she participated in his little game, which had been a nominal activity going on between them for a few days.

"Mada mada da ne, aniki," she said monotonously, her bored visage quickly quashing the manifesting event.

"Chibisuke, you're no fun at all." He ruffled her hair dotingly, pouted in a mock fashion, and she felt herself abruptly immersed in a warm grasp.

His eyes were a warm hazel, nothing like the eccentric golden that Rin had developed, a trait taken from her father, she had surmised. At least, she had hypothesized so from the health books about chromosomes she was able to get her pudgy hands on. Perhaps that was why Ryoga always seemed to have more friends than her; first impressions, after all, were important, and cold, calculating golden eyes weren't exactly the most hospitable of expressions. But she was totally complacent about her social life.

The four year old, a precocious child, was more eloquent than expected; she would have been admired had not her comments all been cynical and harsh. "I would rather give Karupin away than continue with this foolishness." That was a lie, obviously. She was almost as attached to her cat as she was to her brother.

There was a lapse in the banter, and then Ryoga's voice adopted a slightly forlorn tone. A slight shift, but the girl, who had been listening intently, caught it.

"Chibisuke, how would you feel if I left?"

The little girl stiffened and said in brusque manner, "Sad, I guess."

"That's not good – I mean, to be sad for …" Ryoga trailed off in the middle of his sentence.

"Why?" Rin's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and perhaps slight trepidation. "You're not thinking of leaving, are you?"

"No," Ryoga replied, a little too quickly, but Rin did not notice. Her posture relaxed quickly, never detecting the flaw.

"Hn. I might have liked that," she muttered, again, dishonestly, and sank into pensive thoughts.

Her companion soon continued to smile in that feckless way that had gotten him branded as a troublemaker, his eyes scintillating.

"You wanna play tennis?"

This seemed to rouse the pompous toddler from her daydreaming. Propping up her arms on his shoulder – and her chin on her chubby hands – she considered this for a moment.

"Fine." A facsimile of his smile briefly flashed across her face. "But," she added quickly, "you _can't_ go easy on me."

"We'll see, Chibisuke, we'll see."

It was the opposite of what one might expect a normal young child to say, to ask an adept tennis player to play seriously with them and very possibly crush their aspirations of playing tennis.

But, then again, Rin was not a normal four year old, and this was not a normal household.

But even for a normal household, what was about to happen turned the entire household upside-down, and inside-out.

* * *

The shouting match had been going on for some time now, and Rin sank onto her bed, attempting to ignore the raised voices in the kitchen below. Ranting about frivolous matters again, no doubt.

The last time, it had been something about how long it had taken Ryoga to put on his shoes – which, Rin noted, had ended up with Ryoga being tardy to school, not because of tying his shoes, but because of her mother's distracting dialogue. Sometimes she wished her mother wasn't a lawyer; arguing was her passion, and nothing could change that.

But she had to admit, something was wrong. It wasn't like the normal banters that occurred back and forth between her parents. There was a sharp edge to them, yes, but there was always more playfulness, like cats swiping at each other with sheathed claws.

They had let the claws come out this time.

She caught a few words here and there, and she admitted that none of them were particularly friendly, generally carrying a harsh tone. The argument quickly shifted to the location that it always ended up in, and Rin sighed. Didn't they ever get tired of this?

"You know what, Ryoga? You're a leech! Living here, eating our food, pretending that Rin was your sister to begin with!" Her mother's words quickly turned into an unrestrained shriek that she barely recognized.

Rin flinched as she heard her own name enter the stream of words. As usual, it was one-sided. Her brother was probably holding a staunch position of his own – silently, that is. It always seemed to aggravate her mother further.

"I don't know why Nanjiroh wanted to let you stay in the first place! A tennis companion, or something like that." Her mother snorted in repulsion. "No one wants you here! Not even Rin."

Her brother's resolve seemingly broke. "And how do you know that?"

"I-She doesn't need you!" her mother blurted out wildly.

There was a mingle of voices now, the low bass-like rumble of Ryoga's, and her mother's high pitched tone that she only adopted when she was furious, like that time her father instructed her to fetch his adult magazines without getting caught by her mother.

He had topped it off with a well-placed statement of, "I bet you'll never be able to do it in a million years, Rin." The challenge made the two year-old instantly comply.

Three minutes later, to Nanjirou's utter disbelief, the smirking girl returned, hands full of his precious images of women strutting around in bikinis.

Her father didn't get off easy for that one.

The loud voices below acted like a twisted lullaby for Rin, quickly lulling her to sleep like the drone of white noise. Her anxiety ebbed – after all, when it came to drowsiness, she was just a normal child – and her eyelids drooped over her metallic orbs.

It wasn't long until Rin fell into the clutches of sleep, but a sort of worry had surmounted her previous thoughts. And once the seed is planted, if nurtured, it doesn't stop until it sprouts into a parasitic flower.

* * *

"Just leave, Ryoga." Her mother's voice was a deadpan, as if she didn't even have the energy to push the point anymore. "If you want to leave, just go."

Rinko seemed to be more tired lately – even Rin could see that. Not that the effect hadn't spread to every family member. Rin looked older than any other five year-old child within her kindergarten classroom.

No one could fathom why the change had undertaken her mother. No one could trace the roots of it either. It had come on gradually, but by the time that they had realized it, it was already too late. When her mother took on a case, she rarely ever stopped.

Ryoga's face grew hard, and Rin emerged from her stooping position underneath the covers. Her brother determinedly avoided her gaze.

"An-aniki?" she ventured, and was ignored by both.

A book dangled freely from Ryoga's hand, a bedtime story that he had been reading to her.

"Aniki." Her voice was barely audible, but steady. "Are you –"

"Rin." Her mother's voice was emotionless. "Go, this doesn't concern you."

She stood firmly in place, waiting for her brother's answer. Some sort of recognition, at least. There was none.

"Aniki, are you going to finish that sto-"

"_Rin, shut up and leave, NOW!"_

A lump worked its way up her throat, but she forced it back down. Moisture treacherously formed in the corners of her eyes and the crooks of her lips wobbled slightly.

"Rin."

She looked up, directly into the eyes of her brother. They were fierce now, and she could see – not just a spark – but a fully-fledged flame burning within them.

"I'm going to leave now. But don't worry, I'll come back eventually and finish that story." Errantly, she wondered if those were _tears_ glistening in her brother's eyes. A moment of weakness.

"I promise, Rin. Wait for me."

* * *

Six years later, she was still waiting.

She heard nothing from her brother, despite her extensive research; staying up late, calling detectives behind her mother's back, trying to bribe her father into telling her what had happened (he really didn't know, apparently, since when she was about to burn his magazines, he had asserted the same answer of ignorance) all to no avail.

It was almost as if he had _wanted_ to hide from her.

And so she took those memories of the times that she had cherished, the person that she had worshipped above all others, and instead of consecrating them, she locked them away in that deep, dark chamber of her mind. She sank into the comfort of her own life and tried to _pretend_ that everything was alright, that no such person had existed, and he had made no impact on her.

She didn't want to feel the pain of it anymore, like any other rational human being. It was her attempt to forget it all and make a utopia of her own in the sport that she loved most – tennis.

She trained to the point of harmful exhaustion, causing her to be hospitalized several times because of moderate to severe injuries, one of which included a few broken ribs, a sprained ankle, a deep gash on her forehead, and innumerous bruises. If she trained harder, she was less likely to remember, she deduced.

But there were always those times when she would wake up with tears streaming down her face, clutching her mouth to muffle the sobs.

Her mother returned back to the carefree, happy person that she once knew, but she couldn't help but flashback each time she saw her to the times when she wasn't. The yelling, the screaming, the abuse. It just wasn't the same; like a torn and wrinkled piece of paper, her life could never return to the blissfully ignorant state that it had belonged to shortly beforehand.

What had happened?

But even the crushing defeat of endless despair cannot hope to snuff out every last flicker of the flames. Snuggled between two of her schoolbooks was the old and dusty book that kept that hope alive, that Ryoga Echizen would return one day.

She was still waiting. Waiting for him to come and finish that it.

* * *

Those eyes fit into the safe she had locked her memories into, opened the lock with ease; they were the keys.

Like a broken dam, the reminiscences of old times rushed forth; driven by the sheer power of will, they were unstoppable.

Time had come by and hardened those eyes, twisted and turned them into something different. But time could not alter the genius of the human mind. She could have recognized those eyes from a mile away, one eye closed and all.

It was her missing brother. Ryoga.

Rin promptly collapsed unconscious.

It was the perfect way to start out her first day of school.

* * *

**OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD. **How was it? Bad?

Yes, no, maybe so? I'm guessing it's most likely the first choice, wasn't it?

You know, I always say to myself that one of these days, I'm going to write a totally humorous and romantic fanfic without a _single darn _trace of angst.

Yeah, well, _I'm_ still waiting for _that _to happen.

And the funniest thing is – I fail at angst, epically, so I have no idea why I continue to include it in my stories. Maybe it's because I like reading angst?

Hmm…

If anyone's a psychologist, you're going to have to give me an answer to that. Please. Tell me in your reviews, or something like that.

**DUNDUNDUN. **

**THE NOTORIOUS VILLAIN, **_**WRITER'S BLOCK,**_** HAS STRUCK FEAR AND THE SENSE OF HOPELESSNESS INTO THE HEARTS OF WRITERS YET AGAIN! IT LEAVES NO VICTIM KNOWING OF WHAT THEY WILL WRITE NEXT. NOT TO FEAR, THE REVIEWERS ARE HERE! HEROICALLY LAUNCHING THEMSELVES FROM ONE STORY TO THE NEXT, THEY OFFER THEIR BRILLIANT SUGGESTIONS TO EACH WRITER, RIDDING OF THE EVIL WRITER'S BLOCK. BUT WILL THE REVIEWERS REIGN TRIUMPHANT – OR WILL WRITER'S BLOCK FOREVER PLANT ITSELF DEEP INTO THE MINDS OF YOUR FAVORITE WRITER'S AND CONFUSE THEM? ONLY **_**YOU**_** CAN STOP HIM! **

**Continued in the next edition, JK. :)**

Lol. I just had a random weirdo attack back there.

By the way, I'm sorry for not updating faster. I would promise to do so at a faster pace, but you all know that it would be a complete lie.

-SER3NADE


	5. ----bibelot

**A/N: **So, yes, I know, I've been on a very long break. I'm not going to make up any excuses today, because of the following reasons, class. Feel free to take notes.

1. I am a loser with no creativity. :D. (LOL, jk, but still.)

2. I feel guilty when I lie to my readers, like I'm killing puppies or something.

3. Well, let me tell you something – it's a secret. I'll just pause for dramatic effects. If you really want to know, there is actually no third reason to why I haven't been active for the past few months, but by the time you realize that, it's already too late to stop reading this. (:

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll just go cower behind a chair now (please don't kill me), right after I thank all of my reviewers.

…

Oh, yes. Thank you. I love you all.

* * *

**"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."**

-guesswho – and review! (Oh, that rhymes. I feel so smart now.)

* * *

By the way, I would like to challenge you not only to guess the author, but my age. Whoever is the closet may get a special prize. :D. (Just a hint, but a lot of my friends say that I act older than I am. I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult. Hm…)

* * *

**-** **bibelot**, /_noun_/

1. a small object of **curiosity**,** beauty**, or **rarity**

* * *

Of all the places she could have woken up, it had to be in a desolate, cold warehouse.

Not a single soul in sight. How frightening.

Thankfully, Rin had her own share of crazy experiences, and this ranked below average on her list. Kidnappings were not foreign to her. She had once been abducted by a pair of poachers who planned to sell her on the black market, but ended up asking for autographs when they realized they were huge fans. She had denied the request.

Being a tennis player, she was gifted with acute senses, and she quickly scanned her surroundings. A few rays of light streamed in from windows, moth-eaten curtains that had long lost their original color framing them. Some scattered furniture placed artlessly here or there, some discarded flashlights and their corresponding batteries, and a few eating utensils and bowls – nothing much to see there.

It was the generic shelter for a homeless being.

Suddenly, a few photo frames caught her eye, hanging crookedly above a narrow futon, and she attempted to rise from her fetal position when the greatest of migraines hit her.

Sadly to say, despite her intense endurance levels, she almost fainted again. Her head throbbed, and when she raised her head to her temple, she felt an abrasive surface beneath her fingertips. A bandage.

Rin waited for a few moments to test if it was safe to move again, and carefully inched her way across the floor, crawling, towards the photographs. Her natural curiosity had gotten the better of her again.

A face as similar to her as the back of her hand stared back audaciously, that cocky expression and that pink tennis racket. The first tennis racket she had ever received, junior sized. Because the face behind the cracked glass, which – interestingly enough – had not a speck of dust on it, was her own. Distorted by the power of time, infused with youth, yes, but still extremely recognizable.

The second photograph contained a picture of herself again, standing next to her merry-faced brother, both of them holding tennis rackets. Hers was held towards the side, and his was slung over his shoulder with a carefree aura.

Her brow furrowed. No one else _should_ have possession of these pictures, no one except –

Something akin to nausea passed through her, and she almost hurled her breakfast – repulsive American food, so it would have been a favor – right onto the concrete floor. Sadly to say, despite her intense endurance levels, Rin literally dropped like a rock, her arms giving way beneath her.

"Careful," a voice chided from behind her.

- no one except Ryoga Echizen, that was.

She whirled around in shock. Standing behind her, a trademark grin gracing his features, was the infamous Ryoga Echizen. An ill-suited rush of anger pulsed through her; normally, she was emotionless, but now was not the time and place for that demeanor.

He thought that just because he came back, she would suddenly love him again. He had ripped her heart into fourteen billion pieces, and decided to come back and save her _now__**, **_like some sort of _Prince Charming_?

If, perhaps, she had been more able, and had been armed with her trusty tennis racket, she would have physically attacked the scoundrel. But her condition forced her to constrain her anger.

But some of it leaked out.

What occurred was a strangled slur of English, worthy of the illiterate Akaya.

"You, _you_ stupid," she gasped," what were you _thinking?_Missed you… so much, what did you care? No letters, no communication, left me hanging. _Not a single damn trace for years!__**"**_

He held his hands up in defeat. Surrendering.

But Rin wasn't done.

"Bastard. Be more _sensitive. _I _loved_ you, and you just – "

"Rin, listen, I'm sorry. Calm down first."

- "leave me like that?" Her eyes bulged. "_Sorry isn't enough!" _

"You're completely right, it's not enough. I left, and that's something that I can't leave behind, but you need to let me explain first."

Rin had subsided into pants and deep breathing by now, an attempt to steady her nerves.

"I just snapped, okay? I found out that my – no, your parents aren't actually my parents, if that makes any sense. Rinko kept on putting so much pressure on me ever since I figured it out, I thought that she didn't want me around. Now I realize it wasn't her fault; she was probably just as stressed as I was, or even more so, keeping the family together, and my sulking wasn't helping much."

Ryoga talked lightning fast, as if he was afraid that someone would stop him.

"So I moved to Japan, somehow got a plane ticket from one of my friends – I think you may know him. Atobe Keigo. Conceited, rich, self-centered, tennis player – yeah, that about sums it up. I shut myself off from all connections afterwards, and so, here I am. Maybe that's why you haven't heard from me in a while."

A long pause.

"You know," Rin mused, her eyes slightly puffy, "you could have just _told me_. I wasn't that immature and insensitive." She had calmed down enough to cease the angry tone.

A smile tugged at his lips. "You kind of were, but yes, I could have told you."

A slight huff emanated from her lips. "Mada mada da ne."

"You don't know how much I missed hearing that, even though it gets kind of annoying at times." Rin peered at his face from behind crossed arms, head resting on her knees, and a treacherous smile spread across her lips. Thankfully, it was hidden.

Another painful stab of pressure in her forehead, but she ignored it, and stood up, propping herself up on the wall. A persistent ringing reverberated in her ears, and she almost stumbled and fell.

Ryoga's eyebrows knit in worry.

"You hit your head pretty hard on the doorframe when you lost consciousness. I think you should go see a doctor."

"No, I don't need to."

She proceeded to take a step and fall flat on her face.

"Okay," came a muffled voice. "Maybe I do."

* * *

They waited in those sterile, white rooms as the doctor analyzed her condition. It wasn't that difficult, really, for a trained medical professional, when Rin began ticking off her symptoms systematically.

"Nausea, a headache, dizziness, slurred speech, a ringing in the ear, and fainting." She cocked her head to one side. "I think that's about it."

The doctor didn't even have to check his medical textbook to diagnose that one. Just in case, however, it was stowed secretly in the second drawer on his desk.

"You have a concussion, Echizen-san." The doctor beamed at her, feeling very proud of himself.

"Well, yes, I know that," she snapped. "Mada mada da ne."

His pride vanished. "Thankfully, it's minor. Just refrain from any physical activities and take some pain relievers if needed."

"Is that all?" she intoned in a bored manner.

"Y-Yes."

"I don't even know why I came here then. This was utterly pointless."

Before she could traumatize the doctor even further, a loud shriek echoed through the sterile halls of the hospital.

"Uh, yes, bye," she said hurriedly, and shuttled off towards the sound, hoping that it wasn't Ryoga – again. Causing trouble and havoc was his specialty.

"Young lady!" he called after her, determined to have the last word. "Remember, no overexertion!"

Rounding the corner, Rin almost collided with a nurse, but was able to dodge with practiced ease because of quick reflexes. Muttering a quick apology, she raced off again. So much for refraining from physical activities.

The noise came from a hospital room rather than the waiting room where Ryoga had been, but that did not reassure Rin. It was only too easy for him to dart off into one of these empty rooms to do who-knows-what, and ever since he had returned into her life, she decided to make it her personal job to keep him out of his mischief. It hadn't been working out for her too well so far, courtesy of her concussion.

She was happy to see that the voice did not belong to Ryoga, or anyone associated with him. But she recognized that obnoxious, whiny tone from English class.

"But, _buchou_, if you can't play tennis, then _how _are we supposed to win this year with Seigaku and Hyotei constantly on our heels? _We need you!_"

"I'm sorry Akaya." The owner of the sound, the blue-haired captain of the tennis team, was obviously tired. "I'll just have to see what the doctors say and hope that I can get better in time for Nationals."

"But – _but_…"

"Come on now, Akaya," said the tall one in the black cap gruffly. "Yukimura needs his rest."

Rin darted towards an empty room and hid behind the ajar door as the rest of the tennis team filed out. Akaya continued to complain.

"_But_, if buchou doesn't get better, then we may not win Nationals. We _can't_ lose, we just can't."

"_Akaya_," said the tall boy threateningly.

"Sorry, so very sorry, fuku-buchou!" shouted the teenager with the messy hairdo.

Rin thought for a moment. Did this mean that Rikkai had lost their strongest player, as well as their captain? It meant that their chances at Nationals would be severely decreased, depending on how quickly the so-called Yukimura recuperated.

She was impatient to play him, for some reason, because he just had that sort of air around him that made him seem like an adroit player. Rin enjoyed a challenge, and it had been so very long since one had presented itself to her.

He was hunched over on the hospital bed, and looked as if he were trying to convince himself of something. She felt pity – tennis obviously meant something to him, just like it did to her. It was her life, after all. If she were to be separated from it, or even have the possibility of her being separated from the sport spring up, then Rin would be utterly devastated.

With one last glance at the blue-haired captain, she made her way back towards the waiting room where Ryoga _better_ be waiting, or so help him –

He wasn't. She flaunted her vast knowledge of colorful language.

* * *

A few weeks later, Rin woke up in her own bedroom rather than a cold warehouse. A much better change of setting.

The phone was ringing in an annoying fashion, and she picked it up and held it to her ear.

"_What?_" her irritated voice moaned. "Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?"

"Rise and shine, Rin," a light voice tinkled, followed by a few peals of laughter. "Can't be late for your thirty-second day of school."

She groaned and internally cursed Fuji. He had gotten into this habit of becoming her personal alarm clock, meticulously set to ring every day at six.

It was just as well, because today was the ranking tournament for the tennis team of Rikkai. Not that she was going to participate. As a professional player, she did not want to get involved. Besides, she had promised herself a break from all this tennis madness, but part of her still longed to return to the tennis world, just to play her favorite sport.

Just because she wasn't going to play didn't mean she couldn't go and watch. Rin wanted to see the famed skill of the Rikkaidai High tennis regulars – whether they were as good as the rumors said.

She immediately immersed herself in her daily routine. Get up, throw on some clothes, wash her face, brush her teeth, eat breakfast, check on Ryoga and Karupin, and leave for school. She brought her tennis bag, partly out of habit and partly because she had the faintest inkling of hope to play. Maybe it was slightly larger than a mere _inkling_.

Her classes could hardly go by fast enough, because Rin had an addiction.

Tennis was her drug, and she was enslaved by it. Never free from its clutches, and always longing for more, that exhilarating feeling that it gave her when she played.

She walked towards the Rikkaidai tennis courts, full of hopefuls, but no regulars. A few of them were playing games, and it was rather disappointing, really. Most of them could barely serve the ball right, much less become regulars. She scoffed as one freshman tripped over a tennis ball on the court and fell ungracefully.

It was _common sense_ to clear the court of all balls before playing. If this was the skill of the Rikkaidai tennis team, then she would have been much better off staying in America. Or attending her father's old school, Seigaku.

An abrupt breeze distracted her from her thoughts as a band of people decked in yellow and black jerseys sauntered through the gates.

And of course, the excited whispers in general circulation within five seconds of their entrance soon followed.

"The regulars!"

Rin set down her tennis bag and watched them with a cold and calculating eye that came to her when she analyzed tennis and tennis only.

Let the show begin.

* * *

**A/N: **Oi. You. Yes, you. Review.

Thank you again, my reviewers. I am very sleepy right now after three hours of continuous work late at night, so… yeah. Please excuse any grammatical errors that I may make, as always.

Now, if there aren't any other interruptions, I will go die in shame.


	6. ---monstrosity

**A/N: **Hooray for fast updates. At least… faster than usual. _ I'm in an extremely good mood today, as I just found out that I am eligible to enter a prestigious gifted program in which I will be able to graduate from high school two years early! I also won a national award for the American Mathematics Competition (AMC) from the National Mathematics Association of America. Lastly, I got a hundred percent on both of my math tests, my physics test, and my vocab quiz, won my debate as the affirmative position, and am on the honor roll for a 4.0 GPA.

I also twisted my ankle when I fell in badminton, so I guess pride comes before a fall, literally.

Congrats to Guest (**3/11/13)** for guessing correctly. It _was_ Albus Dumbledore. However, no one successfully guessed my age. I am thirteen. Surprised – or not?

I take most of my chapter names from , and their words of the day. Very helpful if you have writer's block, like myself. In the future, you can suggest chapter names in your reviews, if you want. ^^

"**There can be no equality or opportunity if men and women and children be not shielded in their lives from the consequences of great social and industrial processes which they cannot alter, control, or singly cope with."**

-**who said it?** Tell me in your reviews! A brownie for anyone that guesses correctly. ([::] – brownie)

That awkward moment when you can hear your Asian dad blasting his Asian music from an Asian website on his Asian laptop and when your Asian mom is telling him to turn down his Asian music in an Asian accent. Happening to me right now, in real life. c;

* * *

**-** **monstrosity**, /_noun_/

1. an object of great and often **frightening** **skill**, **force**, or **complexity**.

* * *

She watched the yellow balls whistle past her with abnormal speed, the blood, sweat, and tears drip onto the tennis courts, and the high speed at which the sophomores ran, zigzagging across the green rectangles with great agility. She heard the short intervals that lay between rhythmic thumping of the ball, and the awe-struck murmurs and gasps of her fellow freshmen from behind her.

Rin yawned. They could have been passing butterflies for all she cared. Perhaps, to a beginner, these random sophomores appeared to be incredible players, but as a prodigy and quite the adroit player, she saw all the horrible flaws they committed.

A large gasp and then a groan came from the naïve audience behind her as a sophomore hit a shot that went just out of bounds, and a large clang reverberated from the instrument. She stared at them incredulously and then shook her head. He had obviously hit it off the rim accidentally, and then run his racket into the ground, most likely scratching the head of it. All beginner mistakes. If this was the true skill of Rikkaidai High, then she was disappointed.

A gentle breeze blew past her ear abruptly after that thought, seeming to whisper, "Not yet, not yet. There's still more to come."

At least, she hoped that there would be more to come. For a moment a straying thought entered her mind – perhaps she would have been better off staying in America, dealing with all the rabid fans and reporters – but she quickly brushed it off. There was no use reminiscing about the past – after all, it was the past.

Subconsciously, she gripped the strap of her tennis bag where her precious cargo lay, hands itching to play, itching to teach this bunch of weaklings what tennis really was and just how _fun_ it could be. To play so badly, in her eyes, was an insult to her game – an insult to her life. It was a direct challenge, and everyone that knew Rin _knew_ that she was never one to refuse any sort of challenge, large or small. An almost sadistic smirk uncharacteristic of her spread across Rin's face, and her golden eyes gleamed.

"That's quite the look you have there," said a cheerful voice, and she turned to see a faintly smiling, red-haired boy gnawing on a piece of green bubble gum. "But," he added, pausing only to blow a bubble in his gum, "I think you're lost, little girl."

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Had he just called her a _little girl_? Despite the fact that a large portion of her respect for this boy had gone down the drain, she wiped the smirk off her face, deciding that it made her look too much like Fuji. "I'm not lost," she muttered, and then quickly supplemented this with her trademark catchphrase. "Mada mada – "

"Oh, so you're that new student, aren't you?" He began beaming at her. "I've heard about you from Jackal, who heard from Akaya, who heard from Niou, who heard from Yagyuu, who heard from fuku-buchou, who heard from buchou, who heard from Yanagi, who heard from Inui, who heard from Fuji." Rin noted how proficient he was at saying long sentences in short time periods and then it hit her. Fuji had been spreading information about her to _other tennis players. _She wanted speed to his house, ring the doorbell calmly, and then strangle him without a second thought.

He started speaking again, so she looked up. "But, yeah, I still think you're in the wrong place, unless you came here to watch us play." He eyed her navy blue tennis bag where the lumpy shape of three tennis rackets together was clearly visible through the fabric. "I suppose not. The girls' tennis team should be adjourning over there… or somewhere like that." He gestured towards the left wildly. "Just make a left, and then walk until you see some other tennis courts – if you actually want to join." He snorted, like the very thought was ridiculous.

She gaped at him like he was an extraterrestrial from another planet. "I'm here to join _this _tennis team."

Now it was his turn to stare. "Are you sure you're good enough to join this tennis team?" He quirked a brow.

Luckily, Rin was used to sexism – from her sexist of a father – so she was able to resist the urge to sock him in the face, albeit it was a difficult task. Her answer, on the other hand, was as calm as the sea on a windless day.

"Yes." Not a trace of doubt.

`Luckily again for Marui, he had some shame and consideration for the feelings of others. It seemed like he was a pretty lucky guy. Or perhaps her confident answer had just shook him off a little. He certainly hadn't expected that.

"Well…um… Rikkaidai is a national level school; maybe you should start out with the basics more and join the girls tennis team. I mean, I don't know if girls are allowed to join the _boys_ tennis team – or, at least, none have ever tried to apply. I'll – "he stuttered for a second. "I'll go ask buchou."

He motioned to scramble off, but she noticed his discomfort quickly enough and decided to relieve him of it, out of amusement. This was rather funny, after all.

"If I play you and win, will you let me join?"

Marui grinned. This was something that he could handle. A devious plan began forming in his mind – he would annihilate this girl as kindly as possible, and then he wouldn't have to bring this topic to buchou. He exhaled breath that he had been holding in relief. He nodded without any hesitation and motioned towards an empty tennis court; none were allowed to play except the hopefuls – the sophomores who were being analyzed by the captain and the vice-captain – but because he was a regular, no one protested.

Rin unzipped her bag carefully, and extracted a blue racket – one that she reserved only for mediocre players; very few people could make her play with her precious red racket, the one that had been given to her by Ryoga, when she was younger. From his prized yellow regular's jacket, and the aura that he gave off, she deemed him worthy of the blue racket and the blue racket only.

She could feel all her muscles begin to relax, for the tennis court was the only place that she could ever relax. The handle of the racket felt so comforting to her calloused hands.

"I'll let you serve first." She frowned. Rin hated when people didn't take her seriously in tennis. When it happened, she would always make them regret they ever made that decision.

Picking up the felt-covered tennis ball, she bounced it a few times against the court, getting a feel for the game again, experiencing the sudden adrenaline rush that always kept her going. And then she served.

It bounded past Marui with unbelievable speed, so that his eyes darted for purchase on the familiar figure of the ball but found none. It seemed as if Marui was not one to be annihilating today; rather, he was the _annihilated. _His jaw dropped open slightly in awe, but he closed it quickly – it was an undignified pose, even if he _was_ surprised. He found himself rubbing the grip tape on his racket in anticipation. This girl – she wasn't half-bad.

On the other side of the court, a certain annihilator narrowed her eyes and grimaced. She had gotten way too slow from her lack of tennis over the past month or two. Picking up the ball, she began her serve once more, and it bounded past Marui again.

However, this time, his racket was able to come within inches of the object, and Rin's eyes widened despite of themselves. To be able to return, or at least _almost _return, her serve within two shots of seeing it for the first time was pretty amazing. Better than she had thought.

Internally debating whether she should return the sudden advancement with her own special serve that she had recently invented, Rin shuffled towards the line of which she was going to serve behind. Maybe not today. She would spare him for now.

Her next serve, instead, was the Twist Serve, something that she had long rendered useless in competition. Too many people knew it was her signature move, and so she had begun to develop a new and improved serve in secret.

Again, Marui was shocked, and it whistled past his face as a near miss. An unpredictable style, so far, it seemed. The crooks of his lips curled up into something like a smile. She seemed to be full of surprises, wasn't she?

Thankfully, he knew about the type of serve, and had practiced countering it before in Rikkaidai High's wide and vast amount of exercises that occasionally seemed irrelevant, but always proved useful in the end. The next time she served, he was able to return it, but barely; Marui had never been a great listener, and the vice-captain's lectures were – well – plain boring. There was no other way to put it. It seemed that he hadn't been listening when they had been learning about this particular serve.

She returned his feeble attempt at a drive with a neat cross-court shot that landed right on the line of the back left hand corner. He hastened towards the ball, feet flying out from beneath him, and was just able to catch it before it bounced. It curved up into a weak lob, right in the middle, and she smashed it on the opposite side – again on the line – without the slightest hint of mercy. And just like that, the first game went to this girl that he had foolishly underestimated.

He errantly wondered how he was going to explain this to buchou.

* * *

She now had a permanent smirk on her face.

This boy – he had shocked her when he pulled out his signature move later on, in the second game, something about tight-rope walking. It was a ridiculous name, in her opinion, but had been hard enough to return at first. Kind of. Even though she had countered it in the third game, she had missed the shot more than several times.

She just couldn't resist it, anyhow. That phrase bubbling to the surface once more, erupted from her vocal cords.

Flinging her racket over her shoulder, she declared, "Not bad, but you're still mada mada."

The red-haired teen just smiled and continued to chew on his gum. He had lost valiantly though, with an eventual score of six games to three.

She looked at the sophomores, panting for breath, who had just finished playing their games. The captain and his stoic partner seemed to be talking to them as they gathered in a lopsided huddle to listen.

"Everyone," she heard the captain say in disapproval, "that was _horrible._ Five hundred more repetitions of that backhand swing."

"You've all gone soft over the summer – I bet most of you didn't practice. Tarundoru!" shouted Sanada. For such a strict and quiet person, Rin hadn't expected his voice to sound so gruff and – well – loud. "After you practice backhand swings, run fifty laps each."

There was a loud collective groan, and all the desperately weary tennis players shuffled off to complete their demanding tasks. Rin nodded in approval. Discipline. These wannabe tennis players obviously needed it.

A voice jerked her back to reality.

"Hey, you should join the tennis team." She cocked an eyebrow suspiciously; he had seemed so adverse to the idea at first, and now suddenly accepted it?

"The application forms are over there. But you should probably hurry – I think the freshmen are playing next, or something like that."

Rikkaidai High was different. While some middle schools did not allow freshmen to play in ranking tournaments at all, this high school wanted all forms of talent, regardless of age. Perhaps they would happen upon a prodigy someday, the principal had reasoned with the superintendent, and coincidentally, that was just about to happen.

"Thanks," she murmured, and went to fill out an application form. Paperwork. Ugh. At least it was for a good cause.

"By the way," he said, "my name is Marui. Marui Bunta."

"Echizen Rin."

"I think I've heard of you before…" he trailed off, furrowing his brow. She was already too out of range to hear him.

She heard the thunder of footsteps across the court, and glanced backwards. It seemed as if they freshmen were about to play.

After warming up, they were pitted against one another, in some sort of a round robin tournament to see who the best of the best was. Rin had the good fortune to play against a tall braggart who seemed to be all talk.

"Hey, girl. When you lose, don't be going home crying to your mother. I don't want to look bad in front of the captain," he taunted.

She stared at him coldly.

"_I'm_ going to become a regular. You, on the other hand – I don't even know why you're trying to join _this_ tennis team. The girls' tennis team have tryouts today too. You should go join them. They're pretty good … at teaching people how to suck at tennis." He guffawed, and she shot daggers at him even more. Obnoxious people.

Sometimes even the most confident of people needed to be taught a lesson. This loudmouth was no exception. She pulled out her red racket. Bringing out the big guns now.

* * *

Five minutes later, she won, six to zero, the first one to finish her game. Her hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, and she tied it into a hasty ponytail and tucked it under her white cap out of annoyance. It had caused her enough problems today.

Not a single bead of sweat glistened on her skin. Her opponent, on the other hand, could not be said the same for. He was sprawled on the ground comically – such a _baby_ – and his jaw was widened in awe. It seemed that Rin just had that effect on people, as of late.

"How – _how_?" he stammered, but she ignored him. Such scum didn't deserve her attention. In his eyes, she was a monster. It didn't deviate too much from the truth.

Instead, she walked towards the table where the captain and vice-captain were seated and said breezily, "Six to zero – my win."

In an even tone, the blue-haired boy replied, "Alright. You'll be playing on Court 2 next." He scrawled down the score on a clipboard. "What's your name, may I ask?"

"Echizen Rin." She waywardly noticed that her ponytail had fallen out of her cap.

The lines near his eyes crinkled into as he smiled buoyantly. Rin looked away and grimaced. Reminded her too much of Fuji. "You seem to be rather skilled. Have you taken tennis lessons before?"

I've never been formally trained," she said solemnly. It wasn't a lie. Normally, she just played games with her father, but had never taken lessons of any sort. She would have mentioned him, but to be honest, her father embarrassed her beyond belief.

"That's interesting. You seem to be better than most freshmen so far." For such an authoritarian, he could sure be civil. "The next round is about to begin. You should head off to Court 2 now."

As Rin walked away, Yukimura noted calmly to Sanada, "Echizen Rin?"

Their resident data master, Yanagi, suddenly appeared behind them. Neither were startled; they were rather used to his comments by now. "Echizen Rin, fourteen years old. Fuji is known to be one of her close friends, and she recently returned to Japan for unknown reasons." He coughed, and then added, "I'll have to gather more data on her."

"Sanada," Yukimura said slowly. "Keep an eye on her, will you?"

Sanada only nodded.

* * *

The rest of the games came and went accordingly, though Rin held back by a large margin. Her irritation had only been temporary. She emerged victorious, by no great surprise.

"Alright," said the captain, motioning for them to come closer. "The results should be posted within a week. Some of you might become secondary players. On the other hand, if you're lucky," he said, looking directly at Rin, "you may be able to become a regular."

He waved them off now. "This session is adjourned, for you guys. Feel free to stay and practice. If not, you can head home."

They left the captain to scribble something once more on his clipboard, along with Rin. With a brief glance backwards, she proceeded to saunter out the gates of the tennis vicinities.

Unfortunately for her, she took a wrong turn and passed the girls' tennis courts, where they were holding a session on how to hold a tennis ball and racket correctly. No wonder they had such low opinions of girls playing tennis. She now realized the root cause.

"So," she heard a girl shout, most likely the captain. "You grip the tennis racket like so. A lot of people say that you should grip the tennis racket like you're shaking hands with someone, but that isn't true! You could easily injure your wrist that way."

She wanted to correct their misinformation, but decided against it. It was their problem to solve, and their problem alone.

"Don't mind them," called a mischievous voice. "None of the sensible players join the girls' tennis team anymore, not since that captain took over last year. Thinks she's the queen of tennis or something like that." He laughed.

He had silvery hair – she wondered if that color was natural – and gleaming eyes. This guy violated all of her sharp instincts. He was obviously trouble.

"So why am I the only girl that's joined the _boys'_ tennis team so far?" she countered.

"You're not. Some other girls have _attempted_ to join, but most of them end up quitting for some reason." He shrugged.

Rin knit her eyebrows. She could not fathom why they would ever quit _tennis_. The holy sport. If she had her way, she would have given the inventor of tennis a Nobel Prize.

She opened her mouth to further question the boy, but this time about directions. She was somewhat lost now. Maybe more than somewhat.

"Do you know how to exit campus?"

His grin grew a fraction wider. "Yes, I do. You just go that way. You'll see the main gates soon enough." He gestured towards the left and then darted off.

Something told her that he was not to be trusted, so she head off in the opposite direction. Indeed, soon enough she saw the main gates where a lone limousine was waiting.

And only then she realized that she wasn't supposed to play tennis. Oh well. That rule had just gone out the window.

She was just about to walk home when a loud honk resounded from the limo. When she paid it no heed, a hassled-looking chauffeur got out of the vehicle, opened the door serenely, and shoved her in. Well, it wasn't every day that she got to be manhandled into cars with absolute strangers.

The figure sitting shotgun suddenly turned around and peered at her, flipping his hair in a self-centered way. He placed slender fingers on his temple and smirked arrogantly.

"Hello. Ore-sama is _almost_ glad to see you. Be grateful that Ore-sama has graced a plebian such as yourself with his presence."

Great. She had been manhandled into a car with the most pompous, _strutting _peacock that had ever existed. Atobe. Just great. This day couldn't possibly get any worse.

Suddenly, another person began to speak. "Rin, I ran into Atobe today, and he was generous enough to offer his limousine and pick you up from school. Wasn't that nice of him?" He beamed.

Then, she realized it was Fuji.

Scratch that. It appeared that she was wrong. It could get worse.

Life hadn't been very dependable recently.

* * *

**A/N: **Don't review. Just don't. Heh, reverse psychology. This chapter is my longest one yet, a total of 3686 words. Of course, that doesn't make up for the fact that it's … meh.

with love,

-ES


	7. --thaumaturge

**A/N: **Oh yeah, remember that time I promised you faster updates – that thing that never happened? Blurg. Need. More. Coffeeeeeee. I was up until three this weekend cramming for a math competition, and haven't gotten a decent amount of sleep since. Thank you all for reviewing though! I finally checked on this fanfic and realized that I had gotten 100 reviews, which I seriously don't deserve, but oh well. I'm not complaining. (:

Thank you also for prompting me to write. I just want to shove you all in my pocket, and then you can make me stop procrastinat – I mean, um, feeling lost and confused. Heh…no.

**Disclaimer: I'm just going to make this short and sweet – Prince of Tennis does not belong to me.**

* * *

**-** **thaumaturge**, /_noun_/

1. a performer of **miracles; magician**.

* * *

Rin refused to believe that this was happening to her. She wanted to pull a Houdini out of that limo. Unfortunately, the vehicle was already in motion. Atobe and Fuji, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease – well, it _was_ Atobe's limo after all, so it made sense that _he _was at ease. They began engaging in animated chatter.

"So, Atobe, I hear that your tennis team is one of the top competitors for Nationals this year – first seeded in the regional tournament, yes?"

Atobe looked smug. "Well, with the great _Ore-sama_ leading them to victory, _naturally _Hyotei will be victorious this year – "

" – if you can snatch away the title from Rikkaidai, that is," Fuji finished quietly.

"Exactly. And it is entirely impossible for the most talented _Ore-sama_ to be defeated by plebeians of that degree. I suppose they will all have to be amazed at my prowess."

Fuji chuckled lowly. "I suppose so. Speaking of Rikkaidai, were you aware that Rin here is a student at that school?

Looking down, Rin muttered lowly to herself, "Ignore them, ignore them," over and over again like a mantra.

"Hmm," Atobe mused. At least that drove his attention away from himself. "I suppose that will furthermore increase the chance of Rikkaidai stealing away the win again – no matter. It isn't as if _they_ will be able to defeat Ore-sama. Not if the awe-striking Ore-sama is able to see each and every one of their weaknesses!"

Fuji only smiled serenely. If the world ended right there and then, he would still be smiling in exactly the same non-caring way, Rin was sure.

"But, Atobe mused, with an odd sort of hungry gleam in his eye, "if the uncouthness of those Rikkaidai tennis players gets to Rin, she would be welcome to join the _Hyotei_ tennis team instead."

She quirked a brow, incredulous. This sounded nothing like the prideful Atobe that she remembered. Shrewd and calculating, perhaps, but _never_ would she have imagined him having sunk so low as to try and recruit her.

"Of course, Ore-sama's offer only stands because of Ore-sama's extreme generosity and benevolence – nothing else. Is that clear, ahn?" He scrutinized them for a few moments with a challenging stare, as if daring them to state otherwise. After a few moments, as only silence reigned, his usual smirk returned.

"Yes, well I will keep that in mind, as Rin's manager," Fuji replied calmly. "It's a more challenging task than it seems." Fuji paused for dramatic effect. "Have I ever had the _pleasure_ of telling you how she got herself stuck in that vending machine for the sake of some grape soda – I can't exactly remember the name, but – "

"Chauffeur-san, could you please drive faster?" she said, eager to interrupt. Fuji wasn't helping her maintain her cool and cocky demeanor.

Fuji's smile widened a fraction of a degree, looking less quiescent than usual and more malevolent. "Well, how very _rude _of you Rin," he chastised. "Atobe generously offered us the use of his limo, and here you are trying to escape his company – which _I _for one at least enjoy."

Atobe fingered the collar of his purple shirt absentmindedly, not even trying to conceal his amused smirk. "Continue Fuji. Stuck in a vending machine?" He chuckled, and Rin – looking out the window – simultaneously scowled. They seemed to be in some sort of a secret conspiracy dedicated to sadistic activities.

She tried her very best to act entirely unengaged in the conversation, but with her easily angered and cocky disposition, it was very difficult to do so as her wounded pride was further probed mercilessly.

A few torturous minutes later, just when it seemed that Fuji had told just about every even slightly embarrassing story there was to tell about her, the car ride ended. Fuji brought a close to the conversation.

"– played dress-up in her mother's business suits. The pictures were the cutest things in the world, and _perfect_ blackmail material. Oh, time to go already?" It was remarkable how genuinely regretful he could make his voice sound. The theater had lost a great actor when Fuji chose to focus on his more athletic talents rather than artistic.

The call could not have come soon enough. Without waiting to be dismissed, she bolted from the limousine like it had a putrid odor, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste. Rin might have, had she not been almost a divinely coordinated being.

Then she remembered that – once again – she would be alone in her mansion. Or rather, she would have liked to be alone. Alone sounded a thousand times better than with Fuji _and _Ryoga. Though Fuji was formally the babysitter, sometimes Rin felt that she had taken on the duty instead.

It took only a few seconds for her manager to glide over and join her in her graceful flight from the limo. "Well, that was nice seeing Atobe again, wasn't it?" he remarked breathily as they ascended the front steps of her mansion – no matter how much Fuji corrected her, it was _most definitely not_ a hotel.

Rin gaped at him for a fraction of a second, and then dismissed it as some virus he had contracted in Atobe's limo. She should have realized earlier.

"No." Like normal, her answer was short and blunt. But then again, she had never been a particularly voluble person.

"But he _is_ your childhood acquaintance – "

"Yes, _childhood_ perhaps, but not in the present. And it's going to stay that way." She scowled. Not in a million years would she willingly be seen with that vociferous, pompous bastard. It was as if he were _trying_ to become a pariah, from his every sumptuous belonging to his arrogant figures of speech. Not over her dead body.

"But," Fuji persisted, ever the unremitting irritancy, "even you'll have to admit, Rin, that Atobe is an adroit tennis player. Why, I remember that one time that you actually lost – "

"_Fuji."_ Rin's face looked as if she would like to decapitate him with her tennis racket right then and there. And even the insufferable Fuji knew not to push it any longer. This, however, did not mean that he had enough common sense to hold back his tinkering laugh.

The worst part was that Rin knew there was nothing she could do but wait for revenge. Lurking in the shadows. Then, a smile worthy of Fuji crept up her face.

Perhaps she could arrange an accident for his extensive collection of items reserved for blackmail. Fuji dotingly called it a stress relieving hobby. Rin called it the first step in becoming a serial killer.

She could recall this one incident, after one of Fuji's more maniacal comments, Rin had casually asked, "Tell me, how many people do you keep in your basement?" (In reflection, it was a poorly asked question. After all, it _was_ Fuji.)

And he had replied – it still gave her the shivers sometimes at night –, in all seriousness, "I don't know. It's been a long time since I've checked."

* * *

Shimizu-sensei had finally received her fill of this treatment. Harassment. And from one of her top scoring students on tests, to think.

Echizen Rin was dead to the world again on her desk, only waking up once in a while to make some snide comment to her tablemate about his pronunciation. Even in sleep, Echizen seemed to demonstrate even more perfection, something that annoyed Shimizu-sensei to an unspeakable extent.

She swelled up in indignation. This would continue no longer. Shimizu had always been an adequate teacher, with a degree from one of the top universities in Japan, but could be easily described by any one of her students as short-tempered and prideful. To her, tests and assessments were the best method of measuring success, and her motto was "There's only one right answer for everything." So, it came to her as a great surprise that this transfer student could so effortlessly pass her class.

It kindled a malicious inferno within her. Hurrying over to her desk in the corner, she fumbled with the cover of a book. _The Tempest_, the book read. _A Shakespearean play,_ thought Shimizu-sensei, would surely show that girl her place.

The students were suddenly distracted by the shrill screech of chalk on blackboard as the teacher scrawled a question onto the dark surface. The passage of ancient English looked like some code in the middle of warfare as each attempted to decipher the symbols. A healthy chatter began to fill the room as the conferred with their classmates, but to no avail.

"Echizen Rin," bellowed the teacher. "Since you seem to take my class so lightly, stand up and answer the question." A nudge from Akaya was needed to wake the unknowing Rin up.

A sudden hush fell upon the students. Though Echizen-san was talented, their confidence in their hero was toppled by the sudden appearance of the overwhelming task. Rin was the heroic underdog to them. She was the advocate for their oppression, the bane of the despotic dictator known as their resident English teacher. It would be even more crushing to them if she were to be defeated.

"What is the theme of the fourth act of _The Tempest_?" read Rin out loud, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, still in perfect but slightly slurred English.

_She won't be able to answer this one,_ thought the teacher savagely. _After all, it is a college level question and she's still half asleep!_

"Well," drawled Rin, "as you can see from the Act V, Ferdinand said,

'Though the seas threaten, they are merciful;  
I have curs'd them without cause.'

Therefore, the ultimate meaning of this act should be the concept of forgiveness, and that forgiving, no matter how desperate the situation may seem, will always be able to salvage the soul from harm." Rin seated herself once more and promptly adopted a bored expression.

Shimizu-sensei fell back into her seat like a withered marigold. There was no response from her for the remainder of the period.

"Not bad," whispered Akaya. "But don't expect me to go 'round worshiping you just 'cause you can answer _one_ difficult question."

His comment was met with silence, as Rin was already asleep – again.

* * *

"What?" A loud and raucous voice could be heard from across the entire length of tennis courts. Since it was Rikkaidai, that was saying something.

"_Akaya_," Yagyuu criticized, ever the gentleman. "Don't yell."

"But – but Yagyuu-sempai," Akaya said. "This is ridiculous. Rikkaidai does _not_ have room for a freshman regular, let alone a – a _girl._" He spat the last word out as if it were appalling to even taste on his tongue.

"I'm sure Yukimura-buchou has a reason for it. He always does." But even Yagyuu sounded unsure.

"Besides," Sanada added gruffly, who was getting a migraine from all of Akaya's whining, "you have no right to question Yukimura's judgement in the first place. Ten laps."

Akaya ran them without question. He knew from experience by now to never, _ever_ challenge fuku-buchou.

They gathered around the scintillating piece of paper on the corkboard in front of the storage room, among some of the earliest. That was, of course, because they were regulars. The others were afraid to approach with them there, generally giving them a wide berth in their idolization.

"Speaking of Yukimura-buchou, where is he?" inquired Marui, popping a new piece of green gum into his mouth. "Haven't seen him all day, not even in math class."

"He's gone for the day," replied Sanada vaguely.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Akaya, returning from his laps with a fine layer of perspiration on his brow. "Where exactly is he?" Then, with a start, he realized who he was talking to, and then amended his answer. "I mean… er… do you know where Yukimura-buchou is, oh kind and benevolent fuku-buchou?"

"Nice try," chucked Niou, "but no."

As if on cue, Sanada robotically said, "Ten laps, Akaya," out of habit. Akaya groaned but shambled off without any other words.

"There is a 56% chance that something unexpected is going to happen today," said Yanagi. "And there's a 74% chance that it'll happen in the next five minutes or so."

They all silently wondered how he derived such random and spontaneous data, but were much too used to it to question Yanagi. Even though they were not data masters, each and every Rikkaidai regular was able to safely say that he was right 99.3% of the time."

Suddenly, a small figure with a tennis bag strapped to its back nearly half of its size wormed its way to the paper with the names of the regulars agilely. It stared at the paper for a few seconds, and then turned to leave.

Sanada clapped a hand on the person's shoulder roughly, and their cap slid off to reveal a more feminine face than he had expected. She had a smirk on her face, as if _she _were in control of the entire situation.

"So, you must be the famed female regular," said Yagyuu politely to break the silence. "I will be very interested in watching you play later on."

The praise seemed not to please nor anger her. Yagyuu continued on. "My name is Yagyuu Hiroshi. And you?"

After a pause, she said "Echizen. Echizen Rin."

"Well," said Sanada, this event snapping him out of his absentmindedness. (_Tarundoru, _he thought to himself_.) _He finally noticed the sheer amount of people at the tennis courts – tennis was Rikkai's most popular sport, after all. "Practice shall commence now. Everyone, run eighty laps!"

All of the regulars jogged off towards the track, while the newcomers looked at each other anxiously. Eighty laps was such a large number, and one lap was a vast distance in itself. Sanada silently nodded in approval to himself. Such slackers needed to be weeded out from the Rikkaidai tennis club; such filth would pollute the discipline of the skilled players.

Everyone knew of the infamous declination of the tennis club. It was rumored that in one week alone, three-fourths of the club was known to quit. The next week, a mere sixteenth of its original glory and splendor would be left. But those that did remain were said to be among some of the toughest and most adept tennis players in the country, some destined to become professional tennis players.

He decided to run the eighty laps alongside the other regulars, just as a light warm-up. But then again, that wasn't nearly enough. He would probably have to double that amount.

As he was running, Sanada thought, because running laps just relaxed him that much. Yukimura, it seemed, would have trouble returning even for Nationals, perhaps. The doctors said that there was a chance – rare as it as – that he had gotten some terrible disease that may prevent him from playing tennis ever again.

Sanada shuddered. Even the mere thought was frightening to him. He was undaunted by most of humankind, or by any challenge overall, but taking away tennis terrified him like the Boogeyman did to a toddler.

Then again, they did have the new arrival, that Yukimura somehow thought was _worthy_ of becoming a Rikkaidai regular. Sanada himself didn't know what to think about a _girl_ joining his team, but he trusted Yukimura with every atom in his body. _There must be something special about that girl_, he thought. _Something that I don't know, maybe that Yanagi doesn't even know. Yukimura did always have a gift for spotting potential tennis players._

He sighed audibly. He would have to visit Yukimura in the hospital later, and despite the blue-haired youth's attempts to maintain a strong facet in front of his team, even the densest of people would be able to tell that he was under immense stress. After all, the prospect of losing bothered Yukimura more than _anyone _in Rikkaidai, because Yukimura had never lost.

Sanada had lost before to Tezuka, and had hypothetically lost to Atobe, and countless times to Yukimura, so he was less disappointed when he lost. But when Yukimura finally lost a game – if that would ever happen, Sanada was not sure –, the resulting shock could cause some major destruction. Yukimura had an Achilles Heel, but how long it would take to expose it was a mystery still.

But worrying was not characteristic of him. Shaking his head, he sped up his pace to catch up with the others, who had left him behind in the dust in his pondering.

Somehow, this entire fiasco had left him gaining gray hairs in the absence of his captain. It surprised him that no one else seemed the slightest bit aware of what was happening.

* * *

_"Sanada-kun," the doctor had said. "I believe you are a straightforward, honest person, so I'll just tell you the truth."_

_ Sanada leaned forward in anticipation. Yukimura hadn't told anyone but Sanada that he had been feeling … off recently. There was no other way to put it. Though his friend had brushed it off as most likely just a minor cold, Sanada had a sneaking feeling that it was something much more sinister than that. _

_ "Your friend, Yukimura-kun, may have contracted a very rare disease. We have no official name for it, but from some symptoms we've seen so far, it seems to be something akin to the Guillean-Barre Syndrome. For convenience, we will just classify it under that name." _

_ "What?" spluttered Sanada in surprise. "Does - does Yukimura know yet?"_

_ "Yes, we have told him; he seemed to take it moderately well. Now, this may be a false alarm. We will need to conduct some tests before we are sure that it is Guillean-Barre Syndrome."_

_ "And what will happen to Yukimura, if he does have this disease? Will he still be able to play tennis?"_

_ "Paralysis, respiratory problems, and perhaps sensory loss, if the case proves to be severe. Again, we are not sure if these risks exist," the doctor said._

_ It seemed ironic to him that Yukimura – who was consistently stealing the senses of others through tennis – would have his own stolen away by this disease. It was times like these that caused Sanada to believe in karma. _

_ "It should be treatable, if he has the disease," said the doctor, furrowing his brow. Sanada exhaled in relief. "However, the operation will be risky, with about a 50% chance of success."_

_ Just when he thought that everything might be okay, the doctor would give him some other statistic reversing the emotion. _

_ "We'll talk about this further, Sanada-kun, in further appointments. For now, there is nothing we can do but wait."_

_ Sanada stood up and shook the doctor's hand firmly. "Thank you." On the exterior, his façade seemed to be unchanged. But in truth, he could hardly keep his voice from wavering. For Yukimura's sake, and for the sake of winning at Nationals, he would need to at least pretend to be strong._

_ Feeling the cool breeze on his face, Sanada walked shakily from the doctor's office. With all of his heart, he wished that this was just a false alarm, and that Yukimura would be back in a week, leading them off to another win. He really did._

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading. Sorry for the late update. Leave suggestions in your reviews, perhaps?

-ES


End file.
